


SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone, Part I: That Which Is Past, Is Prologue

by PJPaz



Series: SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Jedi, Sacking of Coruscant, Sith Empire, Tython
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25147057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PJPaz/pseuds/PJPaz
Summary: The first entry in a series combining all eight class stories from EA/Bioware's "Star Wars: The Old Republic" into a single overarching narrative.  This entry acts as a prologue.  A sustained galactic peace is shattered by the sudden return of the Sith Empire.  Twenty years later, various characters live with the new reality, and prepare for what is to come.
Series: SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821745
Kudos: 4





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction series is an attempt to combine all eight of the class stories from EA/Bioware's "Star Wars: The Old Republic" into a single narrative. I am doing this without particular regard for official canon or timelines – My goal is not to create a definitive article, but simply to fashion the best overarching story I can from the parts Bioware already created. Even in this first part, which acts principally as a prologue to the full work, those who have played the game will observe changes from the source material.
> 
> Future installments will follow the story/stories of the game itself… So consider that a spoiler warning if you haven’t played it. Though I have endeavored not to directly transcribe anything from Wookiepiedia, this work remains indebted to that site for background lore referenced within the story. Further, much material is directly re-used from "Star Wars: The Old Republic" and its ancillary material. That said, I will not bind myself to either the “correct lore” or the exact characters and events of the game if it conflicts with what I regard as the best direction for my story.
> 
> There won’t be any particular schedule for updates, as this project is being done “for fun” around other work and projects. Each update, when it is posted, will be treated as if it was an “episode” of an ongoing series – When an update appears, it will have its own internal narrative structure, so each update will have a degree of resolution in itself. 
> 
> The standard disclaimers apply: All Star Wars material is property of Walt Disney and Lucasfilm. Star Wars: The Old Republic is a property of BioWare and EA. This is all for fun; no copyright infringement is intended.

**A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY…**

STAR WARS  
The Old Republic – Episode One  
THAT WHICH IS PAST, IS PROLOGUE

It has been 300 years since the GALACTIC

REPUBLIC’s victory over the evil SITH

EMPIRE, and the galaxy has enjoyed a

period of sustained peace.

With the Sith seemingly gone forever,

the Republic and the JEDI ORDER have

established a listening station, orbiting

KORRIBAN, the home world of the ancient Sith.

A black market has arisen for rare and

valuable artifacts of the ancient empire. A

resourceful young smuggler attempts an

illegal run to Korriban, to retrieve these

relics and make her fortune…

There is no such thing as bad luck. What we call bad luck is just the result of our own mistakes, a mating of incompetence and carelessness.

Mira’s source had been incompetent, and she had been careless. If her source had been correct, then the sensors of the station would have been down for standard maintenance. She would have lifted the _Siren_ off from Korriban without being detected. She would have been safely in hyperspace by now, en route to her buyer on Alderaan.

Her source had not been correct. That was his error, one she intended to discuss with him, at length. But she had been unprepared for the intelligence to be wrong. That had been her first mistake.

She had barely cleared the atmosphere before receiving a message, instructing her to land on the station for inspection. She tried to ignore it, pretending her audio circuits were malfunctioning. That had been her second mistake; she might have gotten away with a cursory check, but now she could count on the _Siren_ getting a proper deep dive. 

Two starfighters appeared as an escort, enforcing the station instructions. She did not make a third mistake by arguing further. If they discovered the artifacts, she might be arrested. She’d been arrested before and come back from it. No one comes back from being dead.

She had been directed to land in the station's docking bay, then to exit her ship. Now she stood, fuming helplessly as droids painstakingly catalogued every piece of cargo in her ship. So far, they had found only what she wanted them to find. The longer the search continued, however, the more certain it was that they would discover the hidden compartment.

A droid sounded an alert, and more droids rushed into her ship, followed by a Twi'lek supervisor. Mira closed her eyes in resignation. They had found the artifacts.

The approach of two Republic troopers was not a surprise. Mira was caught off-guard by their company, however. WIth the Troopers were two Jedi, a Zabrak male and a young human woman. The Zabrak introduced himself as Kao Cen Darach. The young woman was his apprentice, Satele Shan.

They escorted her to the security area, through a corridor with a clear ceiling. A few years ago, Mira would have marveled at the view of the cosmos. Now she barely registered it, focusing all her energies on protesting her innocence.

“I had no idea what was in those crates!” She summoned as much conviction as she could. The escort would ignore her, but it was good to set her story as early as possible for the tribunal. _Honest, your honors. It’s an old freighter, and I only purchased it two months ago – I can’t be held responsible for every item in every hidey hole._

“You were smuggling Sith artifacts,” Darach said flatly. He took not the slightest interest in her. Mira got the distinct impression that he was bored.

They were halfway down the corridor when Satele stopped, an expression of agony on her face. She held a hand up to her head, clearly fighting for composure.

"Satele?" Darach looked at her, clearly concerned. "What is it?"

“Darkness." She seemed to be seeing something far away, something that terrified her. "Infinite darkness." She turned to her Master, eyes wide. "It's here!"

Mira took a step back, raising her arms up. “Don’t look at me,” she said.

The troopers shoved her forward, but the Jedi ignored her. Darach sensed something too, now. He and his apprentice turned as one, looking up at the view of space.

Space that was abruptly filled as enormous warships dropped out of hyperspace. Ships Mira instantly recognized from holos in her history classes. They were Sith capital ships. Enormous vessels that were monuments to destruction. Vessels that should no longer exist.

“Impossible,” Darach whispered.

A swarm of fighters surrounded the huge ships. It was these that descended on the monitoring station, like locusts on a field. The walls and floor shook under the initial wave of fire.

Darach recovered his composure quickly. “The Sith Empire,” he announced. He turned to the Republic Troopers. “We must warn the Republic. Immediately!”

A trooper said something into his earpiece. He frowned, looked at Darach. "I can't raise anyone. Communications are down." 

That made sense, Mira reflected. If she was in charge of the assault, she would target communications on the first wave. Once there was no way for the station to call for help…

Her stomach lurched as she realized the logical conclusion.

The Sith fighters danced in the sky, gathering for a second assault. This one would be much worse.

“Our ships can’t outrun those fighters,” the trooper said gravely.

Mira could hear the fear in his voice. That was what prompted her to speak up.

“My ship can,” she said, forcing a confidence she did not feel. “Get me at the controls, and I can get you out of here.”

They raced back to the launch bay, even as the station’s PA system announced a full evacuation. 

The corridor was chaos now. Metal screeched as the fighters began a second assault. An explosion from the launch bay. The Twi’lek supervisor ran, screaming, her body engulfed in flames. She made it three steps before she collapsed, making horrific animal noises. If someone had handed Mira a blaster at that moment, she would have shot the poor woman to end her suffering.

As they neared the _Siren_ , they saw that the enemy had breached the station. Troops were racing toward them, firing wildly. One of the Republic troopers fell, while his companion continued to fire at the advancing wave.

_Hopeless_. Mira was but a few meters from her ship. She could cross the distance in seconds, have the freighter in the air one minute after that. It was too much distance, too much time. Her ship might as well have been in another solar system.

She picked up the fallen trooper’s blaster, began firing at the advancing enemy. The other trooper was at her side. They were no longer prisoner and escort, but comrades, fighting for a few precious extra seconds of survival. 

The trooper was hit, his helmet blown off. He was alive, though. Mira reached out, helped him back to his feet. They continued firing as the deadly wave advanced. At any moment, they would be overwhelmed.

Then the Jedi flew into action. A swirl of feet and legs and lightsabers. Mira couldn’t begin to track their movements. They were everywhere, and wherever they were, Sith troopers cried out and fell, usually in multiple pieces.

Mira and the trooper stood, mouths agape. But there was no time to waste. The trooper ran for the controls, sealed off the docking bay from the rest of the station. Behind the bulkhead, they could hear the sounds of people crying, begging. Sounds that were silenced by additional blaster fire. 

More shaking, the station’s metal screaming as the fighters made another pass, apparently heedless of their own troops already on the station.

“We’ve got to go,” Mira announced.

The group ran to the freighter. Mira’s heart began racing. She was actually going to survive!

Then the Jedi stopped dead, their gazes fixed and grave. Mira followed their eyes.

An enemy ship was landing not far from them. Mira was no Jedi, but even she could sense something from inside this fighter. Like malevolence made flesh How had Satele put it? _Infinite darkness._

“How long do you need to prepare your ship?” Darach asked.

“Less than a minute,” she replied.

Two robed figures appeared from the enemy ship. One wore full face and body armor. The other wore no protection other than his robe, its hood gathered about his face like a death cowl. What skin Mira could glimpse was as gray as that of any corpse.

“Do it,” Darach commanded. “This is our fight.”

Darach and Satele moved toward the robed figures. Four lightsabers appeared, and the clash began. It was a dizzying display, the sabers’ colored lights swirling in all directions, spitting with energy as they met. Satele dropped her weapon, and the corpse-like figure almost had her. 

Darach threw his own lightsaber, knocking the man back just long enough for his apprentice to recover herself. The Jedi extended their hands and their blades flew back to them. “The Force” that Mira had heard so much about, but had never previously witnessed.

It took effort to pull herself from the spectacle, but she knew she had to hurry. While the trooper covered the door, Mira ran to the _Siren_ 's cockpit. 

She skipped as many of the pre-flight checks as she could. The engines activated, and seconds later her ship hovered just above the floor of the docking bay.

As the ship turned toward open space, Mira again saw the battle between Jedi and Sith. It was not an even fight. Darach was holding his own, but Satele was too young, her skills unrefined. She was blown into a bulkhead by a telekinetic blast. For a second time, her Master came to her rescue, directing a blast of his own at her opponent.

Mira turned the Siren so that its entry faced the Jedi. “Come on!” she heard the trooper yell as he lay down covering fire.

Mira watched through the viewscreen as Darach took Satele’s lightsaber from her hand. He said something to her, then hurled himself at both Sith. The blades in his hands lit up, arcs of color assailing the enemy. The Sith were so surprised, they actually backed away.

It was only a second’s inaction, but that was enough for Satele to reach the ship. The trooper shouted that she was aboard, and Mira heard the ramp close.

“On the guns – Now!” Mira ordered. 

She aimed her ship toward space. On the viewscreen, Darach continued battling the Sith. No longer burdened with Satele, his skills were remarkable. He could easily have defeated either of his opponents.

But not both of them. The Zabrak fought bravely, but Mira knew that every second he purchased was a gift that she could not afford to waste.

As soon as the _Siren_ cleared the station, she punched the acceleration, flying straight toward the debris surrounding the planet. Fighters pursued – But to Mira’s relief, both of her charges proved to be effective marksmen. Enemy fighters exploded around the freighters, while Mira spun the ship around every piece of debris she could find, keeping them alive long enough to calculate the jump to light speed.

The ship cleared the debris field, but the hyperdrive was not yet ready. The computer had one last set of numbers to crunch.

Mira spun the _Siren_ one more time, pointing it directly at the nearest Sith capital ship, accelerating toward it as fast as she could.

“Are you crazy?” the trooper shouted from his turret.

“Keep those fighters off me!” Mira called back. “The hyperdrive’s almost ready.”

“Almost isn’t good enough!”

Mira fired the forward guns at the turrets on the enormous Sith vessel. Her ship was too small and fast for the turrets to target, and the fighters were keeping their distance to avoid being struck by friendly fire. Just what she had counted on.

The hyperdrive lit up. Calculations complete. Mira pushed her full weight against the light speed lever, as if the additional force might get that lever into position a half second faster. Space turned into a swirl of light, and the sudden G-force pushed her back in her seat.

They were clear of the battle.

Mira let out a breath. She was suddenly exhausted as the tension left her body.

Satele appeared at her side. She looked shaken. 

“Master Darach is dead,” she announced. There was a depth of sadness in the words, a level of mourning Mira had never felt for anyone. She was too moved to stay silent.

“He saved you,” Mira told her. “He saved us all.”

Satele gave her shoulder a squeeze, a quick expression of gratitude.

“He said something to you,” Mira observed. “What was it?”

“He told me… He said, ‘You must walk a different path.’ ”

“What did he mean?”

Satele just shook her head in reply.

A cough from the hallway. The trooper had entered.

Satele gathered herself up, trying to muster some of the authority her Master had naturally possessed. 

“Master Darach’s final order was to warn the Republic," she said. "We must do so. We must go to Coruscant.”

Mira glanced at the trooper, who nodded his agreement. She began punching in the coordinates.

“Coruscant it is,” she said. “We’ll send a message as soon as we’re in range."

“Thank you,” Satele said.

“It’ll be about a ten hour flight,” Mira told her. “Find some quarters, lie down. Of the three of us here, you’re the one the Council might actually listen to.”

Satele resisted the suggestion. “I doubt I will be able to sleep,” she said.

“Bet you 100 credits you’re wrong,” Mira said.

Satele's face set stubbornly, as if for an argument.

“She’s right,” The trooper told her, his voice gentle but firm. “You need rest. We all do.”

Mira gave them a wave. "Go lie down. Use any quarters but mine."

“You need sleep, too," the trooper said.

“This chair’s comy enough,” Mira said. “I’ll nap on the way, wake you when we’re in range.”

The pair withdrew. Mira heard the young Jedi ask the trooper’s name, but did not overhear the man's reply.

She laughed to herself for thinking of Satele as young. She doubted there was any particular difference in their ages. But her own youth had ended long ago. In the end, age didn't much matter. The universe had a way of throwing its worst at young and old alike. What mattered was how you responded – Curl up and die, or fight for your life. 

Mira figured Satele for a fighter.


	2. Thus Endeth the Lesson

He sat, cross-legged on the floor, in darkness. His eyes were closed, and he was concentrating. He intoned the words Master Gos had so long drilled into him.

_“There is no emotion, there is peace._  
_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._  
_There is no passion, there is serenity.”_

A candle hovered ]above his head. Sweat stood out on his green skin as he focused on the wick, directing the molecules around the cotton. He had to resist an urge to force heat to it. Instead, he followed his Master’s instructions. Nudging the surrounding molecules to gradually speed up, to create the heat of their own accord.

The candle lit.

_“There is no chaos, there is harmony._  
_There is no death…”_

The floor shook, the walls rattled. His concentration was broken, and the candle fell onto him.

He cursed as his robe caught fire, shedding the garment and beating out the flames on the floor. Master Gos would scold him for such a spectacle.

But it wasn’t his fault. He had been doing well, right up until…

The walls shook. He heard blaster fire, screams.

What was happening?

He tossed the burned robe back over his shoulders, grabbing his wooden practice blade as he moved toward the sound.

***

The first thing he saw were the bodies. The faces were those of people he knew. Some were fellow padawans, others were instructors. All twisted and lifeless.

A dark-robed figure pointed at him. “There's one!"

The voice was harsh, guttural. Black-robed figures came toward him, wielding lightsabers, with blades of crimson.

He took a defensive stance, holding his wooden training sword before him. He made his mind clear, as his Master always instructed.

The figures were coming from all directions, but they would not all reach him at the same time. The figure on his left was closest. He had one strategy – Disarm that man and take his lightsaber.

He would only get one chance, one swing of his pathetic wooden blade. He calculated the man’s approach. It was heedless, careless. He was just a student, no threat. The race was not to surround him, but to see who would be first to claim his scalp.

He aimed his blow at the attacker’s wrist, swinging as fast and hard as he could. The assailant cried out, the lightsaber dropped. He caught it its the shaft, bringing it up and cutting through his enemy in a single motion.

Not pausing, he turned to face the onslaught. They had been unprepared for his skill, and he cut his way through half of them before they retreated to regroup.

The survivors encircled him. Now they were organized. Now he was a threat.

He felt his lips draw back in a fierce grin as he held the red lightsaber in a defensive stance. Waiting to see whether they would be smart enough to close in together, or whether some brave soul among the enemy would move first.

It was the latter that occurred. A single robed figure lunged forward. The attacker was smart, and avoided signalling the move. He was forced to backpedal two steps. But the attacker was so focused on speed, control was forgotten. He sidestepped the lunge, then brought his lightsaber down on the back of the robed figure's neck.

The attacker's head dropped to the floor. He pushed at it with his mind, and the severed head rolled to the feet of the remaining enemies.

He adopted a defensive posture once more, waiting for them to make the next move. He was starting to enjoy this. He made a motion with his free hand, gesturing the group to come toward him.

This time, they came as one. But he was able to sense their attack, and he leapt over them. His lightsaber making quick work of the group. Seconds later, he was the only one left standing.

“Caecinius!” It was Master Gos’s voice.

He looked up, saw his Master running toward him, directing Force blasts to enemies on all sides. The black-robed figures had been joined by others – Troopers in dark gray armor, some mercenaries, and Mandalorian bounty hunters.

Caecinius felt his heart slow as he realized for the first time what was happening. This was a Sith attack!

He and his Master were beside each other, back to back. They worked their lightsabers, cutting down the enemies around them, edging step by step toward the Temple’s entrance.

A figure waited on the bridge that connected the Jedi Temple to the city. This man was different than the others. His robe was lined with scarlet. His hood was thrown back, and his angular face radiated arrogance.

The man's cold eyes took in the slaughter that surrounded the two Jedi. “You have done well. Would you do me the honor of single combat?”

The question was directed to Master Gos, who stepped forward.

“Allow my student to walk free,” he said.

The Sith Lord inclined his head, a cold smile on his lips. “Agreed. So long as he does not attack me, or my men, he may pass unmolested.”

He made a gesture. The Sith forces parted, creating a human passage.

Caecinius glanced at Gos. His Master nodded. “Go, Padawan,” he urged. “This is my fight.”

The student sheathed the lightsaber. He passed through the enemy rows. With each step, he expected treachery, braced himself for a fatal blow.

No such blow occurred. When he reached the end of the surrounding forces, he looked back to see Master Gos approaching the Sith Lord.

The two exchanged a formal bow.

"I am Master Gos of the Jedi Order," Caecinius' master stated.

"I am Darth Thanaton." The Sith Lord smiled thinly. "I will be your executioner."

Then their lightsabers activated, and the duel began.

They circled each other, each man testing the other’s defenses. Master Gos was skilled, his movements expertly timed and absolutely controlled. Thanaton was equally adept, coldly deflecting every thrust and countering with probes and jabs of his own.

Then they went after each other in earnest, the two opponents assailing each other from all directions. Thanaton Force-lifted debris from the invasion, letting it rain down on Master Gos, who countered by diverting the debris back to Thanaton. The Sith Lord dodged, then lunged forward.

Master Gos saw the blow coming, tried to raise his lightsaber to deflect it. He was just a millisecond too slow. Thanaton’s blade struck true, plunging into the Jedi’s abdomen.

Caecinius heard the scream several seconds before he realized that it came from his own throat.

Thanaton’s blade moved upward, splitting Gos’ chest. Then he turned away, not even glancing back as his opponent as he crumpled to the floor.

“Disappointing,” he murmured.

Caecinius ran toward his Master, heedless of his own safety. He clutched the lifeless body, weeping openly.

Thanaton made a motion to his men, who parted around him. Leaving him behind as an irrelevance. 

Thanaton himself remained, extending a hand toward him. “Rise, young Jedi. Your tears can do him no good now.”

Caecinius felt a surge of pure hatred. He reached for his lightsaber.

Thanaton made a gesture, and the weapon sprang into the Sith Lord’s hand. He activated it. Now he held two blades, one in either hand.

Caecinius glared at him, braced himself for the finishing blow.

The Sith Lord knelt beside him.

“I made a promise to your Master,” Thanaton told him. “You will not die today. But you are a student, are you not? I think I will leave you with a small lesson.”

The Sith swung the lightsaber he had taken from Caecinius, halting its arc just short of the padawan’s face. He made a cross with his own blade and the one he had just taken. Then he pushed the blades forward, so that they seared the surface of the young man’s skin. His eyelids didn't so much as flicker as Caecinius howled in agony.

Thanaton stood, leaving the young man whimpering next to the body of his Master.

“Remember in future, boy,” the Sith Lord sneered. “Never challenge an enemy unless you are prepared to defeat him.”

He turned his back and withdrew

Unconsciousness threatened, but Caecinius fought it back. He would not lie here helpless. He struggled through the pain, drawing himself to his feet, pushing himself toward the exit. 

As he stumbled out into the city, he saw that the destruction was not just confined to the Jedi Temple. The Sith and their allies were everywhere, firing on soldiers and civilians alike. Smoke and flames blocked out the sky. Enemy ships emerged from that smoke, firing at buildings - businesses, residences. It made no difference.

The Jedi Code had it wrong, Caecinius realized. There was chaos; it surrounded him. There was death; it was everywhere. There was passion, and there was emotion; the heat of his hatred burned more intensely than the mark Thanaton had left him with.

An enemy soldier noticed him, fired on him. By instinct, Caecinius took charge of The Force energy surrounding that bolt. He turned it back on the soldier, letting it pierce the gut of the man who had fired it.

It was a mortal wound, but not instantly. The man lay whimpering pathetically on the ground. Caecinius strode to him, lifted his blaster.

His eyes flickered down to the dying man. He was young, his skin pale. His eyes were filled with fear and anguish.

“I could kill you,” Caecinius told him calmly. “But I'd just be doing you a favor.”

He left in search of more enemies to kill. The larger battle might be lost – But that didn’t mean he couldn’t repay some of the damage they had inflicted.

_There is chaos, but I can impose my will upon it._  
_There is passion, but I will make it my servant._  
_There is death, but I will visit it on my enemies._  
_The Sith will rue the day they let me live._  
_Thus endeth the lesson._

***

Far from the planet, the crew of the _Siren_ witnessed the devastation in horror. They had emerged from hyperspace too late to give warning. They were helpless to do anything but listen to the flood of distress calls coming through their communications system, while watching the Sith ships orbiting the Republic capital.

“They must have coordinated the attacks,” Mira realized. “They probably hit here at the same time as the monitoring station.”

“We have to get down there,” Satele urged.

“No chance," Mira said flatly. "Flying into that isn’t going to help anyone. We’d just be adding our names to the dead.”


	3. Peace at Any Price

The Battle of Coruscant continued for two more days. Two days of fighting, carnage, and death. The Jedi and Republic forces fought with courage, but were no match for the seemingly endless flood of Sith. The Jedi Temple was reduced to rubble, and much of its ruling council was killed. The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic also fell. Long before the fighting ended, it was clear that the Republic capital was firmly under Sith control.

Those members of the Senate fortunate enough to have been off world hastily formed an interim government. The Jedi Council continued to operate, though with a much-reduced count of five members.

As other Republic worlds braced for invasion and the military commanders formed plans for an extended defense, the Sith Empire did the one thing nobody expected: It sued for peace, promising to return Coruscant to the Republic in exchange for “reasonable accommodations.”

It was with a mix of wariness and hope that representatives from the military and from what remained of the Senate and Jedi Council came to Alderaan, to discuss terms with their enemy.

***

“It’s an outrage! They are talking about surrender as if it was some kind of accomplishment!”

Orgus Din, a Jedi Knight who had been smuggled off Corsucant, fumed outside the Council chambers as Satele Shan sat calmly on a nearby bench. Orgus had been on Coruscant during the invasion. He had managed to escape the planet one day after its fall, and had brought back stories of the horrors he had seen. He was already off balance when the Council shared the terms of the proposed treaty with the rest of the Order. Reading that proposal had sent him into a state of naked rage.

Satele shared his frustration. She wrestled with control of her own emotions when she recalled Master Darach's sacrifice.

_No,_ she thought. _Call it what it was - His murder._

Still, she was not inherently opposed to the idea of a treaty with the Sith. Some of the proposed terms were even reasonable. They demanded the return of Korriban and its system to their sole control. The dark nature of The Force as it existed on that world made this a concern, but it was their ancestral home world; Satele would have acknowledged this as a fair trade in exchange for peace. She would also have agreed to non-interference in internal Sith matters, and to the removal of Republic personnel and equipment from their territories.

But the Sith wanted more. They wanted territory. Specifically, inhabited planets – with their full populations turned over to Sith control. This was something she could not support.

"Their build-up was in secret," Orgus continued. "They can't really have endless troops and supplies. If we fight, we can wear them down! Make them to come to the negotiating table on our terms, instead of them swaggering up to it like conquerors!"

As badly as she wanted peace, Satele found herself in agreement with him. The two had come to address the delegates, as witnesses to the assaults on Korriban and Coruscant, in hopes of swaying enough Republic votes to stop the treaty.

Orgus was called first. From outside the chamber, Satele could not hear the man’s words – but she could hear his voice, rising in anger and frustration. He stormed out just a few minutes later, his face dark with rage.

“Satele Shan,” an Alderaanian attendant called.

She allowed herself to be escorted before the delegates. The five members of the Jedi Council sat at the far left, representatives of the Republic military beside them. Seven representatives of the Republic Senate were also on-hand. The Chancellor’s seat remained empty, the divided Senate representatives unable to settle on a replacement. That further weakened the Republic's bargaining power. Each senator spoke for him or herself, while the Sith spoke with a single voice.

Not that other Sith were not present. At the far right were two representatives of the Dark Council, and to their left were high-ranking Imperial military officers. But none of them spoke. They just sat in absolute silence, some glaring balefully at the Republic representatives, others looking bored and inattentive.

At the center of the table stood their one voice, the man spoke with authority at these deliberations on behalf of all the Sith. The author of the Sith’s proposed treaty.

Darth Baras.

Satele was surprised by how young he was. He looked to be only a few years her senior. He also had a certain rough handsomeness, the type that was only enhanced by the scar that had permanently closed his left eye.

“So," Baras boomed. "This is the young Jedi who was attached to the unethical spy station orbiting our homeworld?” His voice was a deep bass that resonated throughout the chamber. He had a microphone, but he knew he did not need it, and kept it switched off.

Satele raised her head, meeting Baras' good eye calmly.

“I am the Jedi who survived the unprovoked assault on the Republic monitoring station,” she said. “At no time had any representative of the Sith contacted my Master or any member of the Jedi Council, to make demands. At no time prior to the attack did we have reason to believe the Sith even existed. You might have reached out diplomatically. Instead, you made your existence known with a massacre.”

A few murmurs in the room. Frowns from some of the senators, and two of the Jedi Council. Looks of approval from the Republic military officers. No reaction at all from Grandmaster Zym.

Baras merely smiled. “You would have had us come to you, hat in hand, as supplicants? A successful negotiation is one done from a position of strength!”

An Alderaanian senator rose to address Satele.

“I’m sure Darth Baras does not wish to silence your voice, Knight Shan,” he said. “Nor will much be achieved by rehashing our grievances. It is my understanding you have read the proposed Treaty, and wish to make a statement on it.”

“More haranguing, like her fellow Jedi,” Baras scoffed.

Satele took a breath, focused on remaining calm.

“I do wish to make a statement,” she said, keeping her voice even. “I realize that my appointment as a Jedi Knight remains recent. However, I wish to make plain my case against this Treaty, in its current form.”

“The exact form is still under debate,” one of the Jedi Masters pointed out.

“Debate, hell,” a Republic general replied. “We’ve just been inking around the margins.”

“Let us allow the Jedi to speak,” the senator from Alderaan repeated.

Satele gave him a grateful nod, turned to the full assembly.

“While all in this room should value peace, the Treaty in its current form does not create a groundwork for a lasting peace. The Sith do not just ask for the return of their home world, nor even for the territory surrounding it. They demand inhabited planets, with thriving Republic populations. Their Treaty does not even allow the citizens of those worlds a chance to relocate. The moment the paper is signed, these full populations instantly become citizens of the Empire, their destinies forever changed by your signatures.”

She allowed this to sink in, knowing that it was the biggest single sticking point for many of the senators.

“Think how the rest of the Republic will react, once this takes effect,” she stressed. “Think of the families, torn apart by this move. If the government will sacrifice its own populace – the very thing it exists to protect – then how much faith will the rest of our populace have in us? Will they not be justified in asking which of their worlds we might trade away next?”

Baras protested.

“The populations of those planets will be fully protected,” he insisted. “The Treaty provides for their worlds to be self-governed, by their own ruling councils.”

“And you provide no insurance that these ruling councils will be truly independent,” the Republic general interjected. “No Republic advisors are allowed on these worlds. No Republic inspectors, not even inspectors from neutral territories. No way for us to know that the planetary councils are anything but your puppets.”

Baras laughed. “Come now, General,” he boomed. “You sound as paranoid as the Jedi who just left." He turned back to Satele, giving her a genial smile. "Tell me, Knight Shan. Do I strike you as a fool?”

Satele shook her head. “No, Darth Baras,” she said. “You are anything but that.”

“Precisely!” he crowed. “Only a fool would expect a lifelong Republic citizen to transform overnight into a perfect Imperial subject. Our Empire will protect these worlds, and Sith representatives will provide advice and guidance to them. But the planetary councils will have final say on internal planetary policy.”

“And that will satisfy you?” Satele challenged. “To turn your own question back on you - Do I strike you as a fool?”

Baras chuckled.

“You have far greater control than your colleague," he congratulated her. "You would have made a fine Sith."

"You'll forgive me if I'm not flattered by the compliment."

“To your point," Baras said. "Of course we plan to directly rule those planets. But we will do so by guiding them and their populations to an appreciation of our philosophies over a generation of time. We believe our view of the universe is the correct one. If we are correct, why should we have to use force to persuade our own people of that?”

Satele bowed her head to Baras.

“You are a skilled wordsmith,” she admitted, “and I am only a simple, still inexperienced, Jedi Knight.”

She turned her head to look at the Republic representatives.

“Even so, and even if you believe Darth Baras’ honeyed words, this Treaty would be a travesty. I know my colleague, Orgus Din, was perhaps overly emotional. But you must understand, Orgus is a Jedi, just as I am. We believe in peace. But peace at any price can too easily transform into surrender.”

She nodded, thanked them for hearing her. She glanced back at the Jedi Grandmaster as she left the room.

His face remained unreadable,

***

Satele's words ultimately achieved nothing. Baras told the Republic representatives that he would persuade the Dark Council to allow independent inspections. When pressed, he even added a paragraph to the treaty establishing a joint Republic/Sith committee to schedule for such inspections.

That concession broke the last of the Republic’s resistance. Though the military remained staunchly opposed, the senate united behind it. The Jedi Council remained divided, but for the sake of unity, ultimately recommended the treaty's ratification.

The Treaty of Coruscant gave the Sith all they had demanded. The galaxy was effectively divided in two, each side agreeing to take no action against the other. Many Republic worlds were signed over to the Sith, along with their populations. Baras’ exploratory committee never met, and all contact between the two sides was severed. Ultimately, the only tangible benefit the Republic received was the return of Coruscant – so shattered by the invasion and occupation that it would require decades to rebuild.

Even so, the initial reaction among the public was relief. War had been averted. But as more and more families took stock of their loved ones, only to discover relatives who had been trapped behind the Sith curtain, rumblings of discontent began to build.

The Senate hoped to raise morale by rebuilding the capital chambers of Coruscant, making them even grander than before. Again, this initially worked, particularly in the creation of jobs for people who had lost so much during the occupation. But the project’s expense created a financial deficit, which in a few short years led to an economic catastrophe. The discontented rumblings grew ever louder, and little by little, the Republic's central government became more unpopular than at any previous point in its history.

During this time, several planets, including Alderaan, voted to secede from the Republic. On other worlds, separatist movements rose. These were initially peaceful protest movements, but the frustration of voices left unheard gradually led to their takeover by more violent factions. Eventually, the term "separatist" became synonymous with "domestic terrorist."

In the end, most were forced to acknowledge the truth. The Treaty had been the ultimate Sith victory. They had taken themselves from a dark legend from a distant past to a Galactic Empire, and sewn seeds of chaos that had severely damaged the Republic. Perhaps even damaged it beyond repair…


	4. Twenty Years Later...

Imperial Intelligence was thorough in its records keeping. Whatever else may be said for them, and on many days the man believed there wasn’t much else to say, they were diligent at gathering, collecting, and organizing information.

He was deep within the Forbidden Archives located underground on Dromund Kaas. He watched the historical documents from Coruscant with jaundiced eyes. Satele Shan’s report of the attack on the monitoring station. Eyewitness accounts of the Sacking of Coruscant. Holo-vids of the treaty signing. A rapid sequence of events that had changed the galaxy.

What the records didn’t show was that the attack on Coruscant had been a complete fiasco. The Jedi and Republic forces had rallied faster than expected, and the losses had been greater than anticipated. The entire attack had been one giant gamble – Attack the station at Korriban while throwing everything else at the Republic capital, hoping that first blow would be hard enough to make the fools buckle before there was time to strike a second one.

It had worked, somehow. But the Emperor’s misbegotten strategy had resulted in a self-inflicted wound that outweighed the gains. The ranks of Sith Force users had been decimated, while the Jedi still remained strong. The Empire had to resort to desperate measures to replenish those numbers, funneling anyone with the tiniest hint of Force potential to Korriban. Even aliens. Even _slaves_. 

The result had been entirely predictable: A degenerate crop of so-called Sith for whom the title and Code were merely a license for unthinking cruelty. The man had no problem with cruelty, when used correctly. But like any weapon, effective cruelty required purpose. These idiots had no sense of purpose. They destroyed merely to enjoy the smell of flames. The meaning of the Sith Code was in danger of being extinguished.

That was the real threat. That was the rot which needed to be burned away.

Even he could not directly challenge the Emperor, so for now, he would be seen to support the long-term plan: For the Sith to lurk within their Empire, so much of which remained secret to the Republic and their pathetic SIS. Focus on building strength, while using Imperial Intelligence to weaken the Republic from within – not that the corrupt Republic needed much help with that. 

But the mistake of Coruscant must not be allowed to fester. He would not stand by for another two decades, as the Order to which he had devoted himself cut its own throat. He would be careful. He would make sure that all the pieces were in their proper places before any move was made. But the time for action was coming. When the time came, the Emperor himself would just be one more piece on his board.

He located the specific information he was looking for and downloaded it to his device. Then he placed the body of the records keeper in the chair he had vacated. When analyzed, it would appear that the heavyset man had succumbed to heart failure. 

He left the way he had come, using The Force to cloak him from any who might have observed. A few times, operatives stared right at him, their perceptions unable to penetrate his cloak.

Inwardly, he mocked their mental weakness. Laughing at how pathetic they were, and at how men on both sides of the galactic divide remained so persistently easy to control.

***

It had been a routine mission.

Within the Republic military, there were two competing schools of thought about routine missions. The first held that there was no such thing; the second, that every mission was routine – right up to the moment everything went pear-shaped.

Corporal Cress Va’Shann reflected on this as he crouched behind cover, laser bolts flying overhead. A shot glanced off his helmet, making him grateful for once for the covering. Standard Republic helmets weren’t made for Twi’leks, and the pressure of the metal against his lekku became painful after an hour or so… But the armor held up under fire.

His unit had been assigned to perform random intercepts of trading ships leaving Corellia for neutral territory. Smuggling had always been an issue; since the Treaty of Coruscant, it had become epidemic, with the neutral territories transformed into a haven for the buying and selling of illegal goods.

This intercept had been like any other. Sergeant Bixwill had given the transport the order to stop and prepare for inspection. The transport captain had attempted to argue, as almost all of them did, then had obeyed, as they all eventually did.

They scanned the transport for weapons, found only two basic blaster rifles – Very basic security. Bixwill instructed the transport's captain to lock the weapons away. Then he, Cress, and six other members of the squadron had entered the hold.

The captain, a grinning man named Laresh, had met them with two other members of the crew. He had indicated the crates in the hold, which held provisions for some of the outer settlements, and provided the codes for unlocking them. The soldiers had begun scanning the crates. Private J’Teel, who had been having stomach issues, had gone looking for a bathroom. Instead of asking the crew for directions, she had just walked to the nearest door and opened it…

Which was when the shooting began.

J’Teel had gone down first. Before the rest of the soldiers had time to react, two more had fallen. Grappling lines were fired for the captain and his two men to take hold of, and they ascended rapidly toward a catwalk above. Cress and Bixwill had fired after them. One of the men fell with a scream – If the blaster bolt hadn’t killed him, the fall had certainly finished the job. But the others escaped.

Bixwill had barked orders to focus fire on the catwalk, then had darted out to the center of the hold to look upward. It was a rash move, and the sergeant was rewarded with a blaster bolt to the chest.

Cress had grabbed him, ducked with him behind an open metal crate. The crate and lid provided cover from the fire above. 

“Take cover!” he shouted to his comrades, wondering as the rain of fire continued how many of them had survived to hear his command. 

He checked Bixwill’s condition. The sergeant was alive and conscious, but his armor had caved inward. He started to cough. A couple of broken ribs from the dented armor, Cress guessed, fervently hoping that none of them had punctured a lung – or worse, the man’s heart.

“Concealers,” Bixwill gasped. “Heard reports that pirates started using them to hide weapons from our scans. Should have been prepared…”

Cress urged him to remain silent. Blame was pointless. What mattered now was survival.

Bixwill held up a hand. Four fingers extended. Four enemies. He pointed to the four corners. An enemy in each corner. Made sense – maximize field of vision, box the troopers in.

Cress tried to contact the ship. No luck – Of course the pirates were jamming them. They would have used the time spent arguing over the inspection to set up devices all over the cargo hold. There were only three reserve troopers on the Republic ship, and no droids capable of combat. Protocol was clear. If the main party was out of communication for more than ten minutes, the ranking trooper would send a call for backup. No reinforcement would be attempted until backup arrived.

As the minutes passed, the shots from the pirates slowed, then stopped. The situation became a stalemate, one the pirates would not allow to continue. They might not know the exact timeline for reinforcements, but they would know reinforcements were coming. Eventually, they would give up on killing the surviving troops. They would seal off the cargo bay from the rest of the ship, then open the airlock and jettison everything into space – troops and cargo alike. 

They would take a financial hit, which was why they hadn’t done so already. But these pirates were smart. Eventually, they would see that it was the only way to get out alive.

Bixwill was already fading in and out of consciousness. Cress would have to find a way to act. And it would have to be soon, because at any minute it would come down to a simple, binary choice:

Move, or die.

***

“In combat, you have a simple choice: Move, or die.”

The young Padawans sat on the floor, transfixed by the imposing figure of Master Caecinius. His head was shaved, and his smooth green pate reflected the light of the two moons as he moved back and forth among them. Like most Mirialans, he carried tattoos on his face and body – But the facial tattoos were confined to the area of his chin, so the impression at first glance was of a beard… Until a closer look revealed the intricacies of the markings.

The only other marking on his face was a deep scar, seared into his cheek long ago. A reminder, he told his students, of the cost of letting your emotions overtake you in battle.

Caecinius continued speaking, barely glancing at the students.

“Once combat begins, a still target becomes an easy target. Motion is life. If you find your opponent’s skill is superior to your own, move back. If he is inferior, move in. But once you have engaged, do not stop moving. You never know how many other enemies are lurking nearby, waiting for you to give them an opportunity to strike.”

“Will The Force not reveal any hidden foes?”

Canlyn Dessan, of course. The Cathar padawan regarded him with that eternally serious expression, her cat-like features focused on him as he spoke.

“Canlyn. The Force is exceptionally strong with you, is it not?”

Canlyn inclined her head, did not answer. To do so might indicate pride.

“How old were you, when you were brought to Tython?”

“Two cycles, or so I am told,” she replied.

“Which gives you no experience of the universe.”

He pivoted on her abruptly, leveling his own wooden sword at her neck. His motion was so fast, she did not even have time to breathe. Her whiskers quivered, and a low, instinctive hiss escaped from her throat.

The other students held their collective breath.

“Who among you sensed my move?” Caecinius asked. No response. “Canlyn, did you anticipate the attack?”

The startled padawan’s eyes were fixed to the weapon at her neck. She swallowed, answered truthfully.

“No, Master. I did not.”

“Correct.” His eyes bored into hers, and he spoke with intensity. “I was there, when the Temple at Coruscant fell. In that temple were Jedi Masters, as strong in The Force and as connected as anyone alive today. Masters, knights, padawans, younglings… None of us sensed a thing until the Sith had already breached the grounds.”

He withdrew the sword, turned from Canlyn to the full group.

“The Force is powerful. But it is no substitute for craft or judgment. Enemies can cloak their intent, and the Dark Side is often hard to see. Rely on The Force alone, and you might as well be entering combat unshielded and unarmed.”

***

From the upper level of the Temple, Grandmaster Satele Shan watched the training. With her were two other members of the Jedi Council, Syo Bakarn and Orgus Din.

“When he was a padawan, I’d have never figured Caecinius for a teacher,” Orgus remarked, “but he has those younglings hanging on his every syllable.”

“He is remarkably skilled,” Syo acknowledged, though with accustomed reserve.

Satele just frowned.

“He troubles me,” she said. “His skill is undeniable, but I sense darkness in him. Rage.”

“He was at Coruscant,” Orgus said shortly. “That battle left me with a bit of rage, myself.”

Satele glanced sharply at Orgus. The older Jedi had resented her appointment as Grandmaster. Still, they had formed a working relationship that might not be a friendship, but that was effective. Orgus had supported her efforts to expand the Order, to replenish the ranks of Jedi that fell at Coruscant. In turn, she had supported him in emphasizing a higher degree of combat training.

“I was at Korriban,” Satele reminded Orgus. “I sensed my Master fall, and all I could do was flee.”

Syo stepped between them, ever the peacemaker.

“We all lost much that day,” he said.

Orgus grunted, glanced back toward Caecinius’ instruction.

“He’s not the perfect Jedi, I’ll grant you” he said. “But when war comes again, he might be the kind of Jedi we need.”

“Perhaps,” Satele replied. “So long as we don’t lose ourselves in the process.”

***

They called it The Pit.

Reyenna did not know the planet's actual name, or if it even had one. None of the slaves knew, and if the guards and overseers did, they were not telling. All that mattered was the mine, which grew ever longer and ever deeper in the quest to wrest every cell of ryhdonium the planet had to offer

She and her mother had been here for seven months. Longer than most slaves survived.

Slaves perished daily. Those caught working too slowly were punished, often fatally, as an object lesson to the rest. Most, however, fell to simple exhaustion and starvation.

Others succumbed to the daily melee that was feeding time. The overseers fed the slaves only once each day. They would dump meager scraps of food from above into the public area, then and bet on which slaves would get the food and which would die trying. Reyenna had grown adept at this daily ritual. She had learned to get in fast; to gather enough for herself and her mother to survive one more day, while kicking, scratching, and biting to keep the masses at bay; then to get out immediately and leave the rest to the building frenzy.

She figured she could survive indefinitely, and with enough food could keep working hard enough to avoid punishment as well. She would not die that way. Which meant that her death would almost certainly come from an explosion.

Rhydonium was highly unstable, and accidental explosions happened regularly. It wasn't like the Empire was going to invest in safety equipment for slaves; the slaves were cheaper and more plentiful than the equipment to keep them alive would be. 

When the time came, Reyenna hoped she would be right next to the mineral. Those in immediate proximity were vaporized – gone in an instant, never even knowing what had happened. Those further back weren’t so lucky – They were far enough away to survive, but close enough that their untreated injuries doomed them to a lingering death. The possible fate that truly frightened her, however, was a cave-in. Left buried alive, to asphyxiate alone in the dark. She didn’t fear death, or even pain. Both were a part of her daily existence. But she feared _that_.

It was that fear that was on her mind as she worked beside her mother, part of a crew tasked with extending a shaft. There were two teams. Reyenna's team dug, then the second team put in supports. The overseers allowed only the bare minimum of materials for support, and she was keenly aware of the weight of the earth above.

“Dig!” the overseer shouted once the beams had been put in place.

They dug out another few feet.

“Supports!”

The second team put in the beams, which Reyenna’s team secured in place.

“Dig!”

Reyenna’s team dug, while the second team checked the stability of the beams just placed. An organized and efficient structure, as far as it went – But with an unskilled and exhausted workforce, mistakes were as inevitable as they were deadly.

The rumble came from a nearby shaft. A Rhydonium detonation. Close enough to shake the ground beneath their feet. Some slaves cried and whimpered.

“Shut up!” the overseer shouted – But Reyenna could hear the apprehension in his voice. Detonations and cave-ins cared nothing for your status, and slave overseers perished almost as regularly as the slaves themselves. The Empire barely placed more value on their lives than those of the slaves. Just as there would always be more slaves, there would always be another man to guard them.

"Dig!" the overseer ordered.

Then the accident occurred.

It seemed to happen very slowly. First, a single beam that had been improperly secured fell out of place, clattering to the ground near Reyenna. The other beams groaned.

Reyenna felt her mother take her hand and squeeze it. It was the last thing she was aware of before the remaining beams gave way.

Her greatest fear coming true. She and her mother would be buried alive. Left to die in the dark, fighting helplessly for a last breath that would never come. Her entire mind screamed its terror, its absolute rejection of this fate. A useless protest to the universe.

Except this one time, the universe listened.

The shaft collapsed, but not on them. Reyenna, her mother, the overseer, the slaves near them – All were spared. Other slaves, at the front of the shaft, cried out as they were buried. But around Reyenna, the rocks and dirt did not fall. The passage behind them remained open.

Reyenna looked up at the ceiling, astonished. Nothing was holding it in place, but it remained intact. As long as she focused on it staying in place, it held.

The overseer had fallen to the floor, holding his arms above his head. Gradually, he realized that he was alive and unburied. He rose, glared at any slave who might have seen his terror.

“Supports!” he shouted. “Get those supports in place! Properly this time!”

The slaves scrambled to obey, but Reyenna did not move. She kept her will focused on the ceiling. Her mother gaped at her, incredulous.

“My baby girl,” she said. Her voice was filled with fear and sorrow.

The overseer also watched. His expression was neutral, and his eyes were thoughtful and calculating.


	5. A Battle with Wooden Blades

Cress’ eyes were cold and calculating as he took stock of the situation. The stalemate had held for several minutes now. Every so often, he would fire wildly toward one of the catwalk corners. It didn’t take long for some of the other surviving troopers to do the same. He couldn’t easily communicate with them, but they trusted his lead on where to fire and how often, and sporadic bursts of return fire came back every time.

He checked his gear. In addition to his blaster, he had three grenades. None of them were smokers. Cutbacks from the Senate meant that squadrons no longer received smoke grenades for routine operations, so all of his grenades were incendiary. Another blaster and another three grenades hung from Bixwill’s belt, though the sergeant himself had long since lost consciousness. Cress checked him periodically. Still alive – so far.

Cress picked up the scanner he had used to check the crates. Foodstuffs, mostly – basic rations and provisions for the outer worlds. Essentially paste, but with enough nutrients to keep a man alive. Also a few boxes of mechanical equipment. Regulators for the upkeep of moisturizers and farming equipment.

One crate, destined for Taris, held scientific supplies. Including a few chemical agents. Cress scanned the list.

_Sulfron_. He strained to remember his science courses from the Academy. If he remembered correctly, sulfron would react with fire, and would let off a thick plume of acrid smoke.

_Please let me be remembering correctly_.

First, he would have to get the crate open. It was near the center of the bay, in direct line of fire from all four corners.

_Suicide_. But what was the alternative? Hunker down and wait for the pirates to space them all?

He would have to take the chance, and hope that even if he fell, he would live long enough to drop a grenade into that crate. It was the only way to give the rest of the squad a chance to live.

He tensed himself, prepared to make his move.

***

“Keep moving!” Caecinius barked to his students. “Don’t stop moving!”

The students were now paired off, dueling with their practice swords. Caecinius moved between them, observing. Any student who made the mistake of standing still was instantly tripped by the instructor’s wooden blade, falling painfully back onto the practice mat.

He came to Canlyn, who was fencing with Ashara Zavros, as usual. Theirs was an unlikely friendship. Canlyn was studious and earnest to the point that many of her peers found her to be downright standoffish. Ashara was the opposite; the Togruata was gifted, but lazy in her studies, prone to unseemly emotional displays, and a little too confident that her native skill would carry her through all situations.

Ashara’s fury allowed her to drive Canlyn back, but her lack of discipline provided several openings. Canlyn ignored the first few of these, allowing her opponent to tire herself with attacks. With a sudden feline hop, she pivoted, circling Ashara. The Togruta lunged, but in so doing left yet another opening. Canlyn exploited it, jabbing straight in, knocking the air out of the girl’s lungs. Had this been genuine combat with actual lightsabers, Ashara would have died on the spot.

Canlyn did not pause in her onslaught. She followed with another strike, drawing her sword to a perfect stop an inch from Ashara’s face.

“I yield,” Ashara said. She grinned at her friend. “One of these days, Lyn, I _am_ going to beat you.”

“Not if you can’t learn discipline, you won’t,” Caecinius growled.

Ashara jumped, not having sensed his approach, while Canlyn merely bowed her head.

“Canlyn has perfect form,” Caecinius declared, loud enough for the entire class to hear. Gradually, the other students stopped their duels, turning to watch.

“Perfect form!” he repeated loudly. He addressed Canlyn, while still projecting to the class. “Your footwork was exactly as we’ve trained. Rapid to adjust to an enemy’s moves, but basic to conserve your own energy, to keep you from wearing yourself out too quickly. You left no openings. You allowed Ashara to exhaust herself. When she attacked again, you exploited the opening she gave you. It was textbook.”

“Thank you, Master,” Canlyn said humbly, keeping her head bowed.

“In fact,” Caecinius said, “I think you need more of a challenge.” He raised his own wooden sword. “Fight me."

Canlyn looked startled. “Master?” she said. “I am not on your level.”

“We can learn much by sparring with our betters,” he replied. “Unless your ego cannot sustain a loss?”

Canlyn looked up, a flicker of defiance in her gaze. Caecinius was genuinely surprised to see it.

_Well, maybe there are teeth in there after all_.

The defiance vanished, and she inclined her head again. “I will face your lesson.”

The two took up fighting stances, circling each other. Canlyn retained a perfect defensive stance, sword ready to deflect any of his assaults. She balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to advance or retreat as the situation required. Caecinius opened his mind, and felt that her senses were also open, probing him for his intentions.

Her own intentions were clear. Her stance was purely defensive, her strategy absolutely reactionary. Whatever act he took, she would counter. She could not hope to win, but she could prove herself by maintaining her position for a respectable interval.

Caecinius did the very thing he had told his students never to do in battle. He stopped. He held his sword upright, directly in front of his face. A weak defensive posture that left much of his body wide open.

Canlyn continued to circle, regarding his posture warily. Caecinius closed his eyes, keeping his senses alert while clearing his mind of all intentions. She was probing, trying to detect the nature of the trap. She sensed nothing.

He held his weak posture. The other students began whispering, some laughing.

He was fairly sure it was the laughter that did it. Canlyn knew it was a trap, but she took the bait anyway. She lunged.

He snapped back in a moment, effortlessly parrying. She recovered quickly, scrabbling backward while parrying his counterattack. He smiled in spite of himself. _Impressive_. He had anticipated ending it right there.

They circled each other again. He didn’t try for another trap. She was too smart to fall for the same trick twice, and her peers’ laughter would mean nothing to her now. He lunged for her feet, trying to trip her. Her Cathar reflexes were too fast for that. She leapt over his wooden sword, answered with a swing at his torso.

The blow was fast, but only partially committed – She held back enough to snap quickly to defense if he moved in. As a result, he was able to bat it away. He swung a series of blows at her. She deflected them, but with increasing difficulty. She was tiring.

Still, she remained determined. The defiance was back in her eyes. She refused to lose easily.

She went on the attack, this time committing fully. Had she done that the first time, she might have given him trouble. But her exhaustion betrayed her. He parried, advanced again.

Four strong blows. He got under her blade and pulled, wresting it from her grasp. He swung his blade again at her feet. She again leapt over it. She reached out with her mind, brought her blade flying back toward her hand.

Caecinius’ wooden sword batted hers away in midair. He turned back to her, lunging full force into her stomach. She fell onto her hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air.

Caecinius stood above her, his wooden sword on her neck, much like an executioner’s axe.

“I yield,” she gasped, not without difficulty.

Caecinius sheathed his sword, reached out a hand to help the padawan to her feet. She took it.

He yanked roughly, slinging her halfway across the mat. She landed hard on her side.

The students looked at him, shocked.

“Never assume your enemy is honorable,” he told them. “Not unless you want one of these.” He touched the scar on his face.

He walked back to Canlyn, extended his hand again. She looked as if his hand might turn into a snake and bite her.

“See?” he said to the other students. “Canlyn learns her lessons quickly. Make sure you do the same. Class dismissed.”

As the students put up their wooden swords, he helped Canlyn to her feet.

“Good fight,” he congratulated her.

“The resolution was preordained,” she replied. “No mere padawan can win against the Academy’s swordmaster.”

“You might have had a chance if you had committed fully to your first assault, when you still had your full strength. You were intimidated by my reputation, so you held back. Even on offense, you still fought defensively. Fight with commitment, Padawan, and few will match you. That is the real lesson. In genuine combat, you cannot afford to hold back.”

***

“Covering fire!”

Cress screamed the order. The next two things happened exactly as expected. The surviving Republic troopers opened fire at the catwalk, focusing on the corners. The pirates fired back, their fire focused in the center of the room.

Exactly where Cress did not run.

He knew the pirates would be prepared for a desperate assault. Instead if running to the center, he grabbed the lid of the crate that had been his cover, using it to shield himself as he jumped from one crate to another, advancing steadily on his target.

He passed Private Hanok, the squadron’s best shot. Cress pointed to the crate that was his goal.

“I need that box opened!” he snapped.

Hanok nodded, leveled his blaster rifle at the crate’s locking mechanism. One shot, and the lid came off.

The pirates had adjusted their fire now. Cress’ makeshift shield deflected one blaster bolt, but the impact sent the lid flying from his hand.

_Time’s up_ , he realized.

He ran, full pelt, to the crate, pulling an incendiary from his belt as he moved. He skidded to the box, the change in speed and angle throwing off the pirates' aim.

“Fire in the hole!” he shouted, as he dropped the incendiary in. He dove into a roll, frantically putting as much distance between himself and the crate as possible.

The grenade detonated, the heat so intense that it set the metal itself aflame. The sulfron interacted with the fire exactly as anticipated, and thick smoke filled the hangar bay. From above, he heard the pirates cough as it reached them.

“Advance!” Cress shouted.

The troops went into action. There were some coughs, and one private was pushed back by the smoke. But the others moved in, still firing at the corners.

Cress felt his eyes and throat scream against the chemical smoke, but he kept moving forward. He found the foot of the catwalk, and was aware of Hanok at his side.

They advanced with the inevitability of machinery. The pirates gagged against the smoke. The first two they encountered were already on their knees. Cress shot one, Hanok the other. The third man had torn some cloth from his tunic and tied it around his mouth. He fired at them as they approached. The Troopers’ aim was more practiced, however. On even ground, the pirate had no chance.

The pirate captain, Laresh, dropped his rifle, held up his hands. “I surrender!” he announced.

The man dropped to his knees, hands already on his head. Making sure he could not be viewed as offering any resistance.

Cress and Hanok stood over him. The private hesitated.

Cress did not.

“Gun!” he shouted, raising his blaster and firing.

Hanok joined a second later, and the two troopers shot Laresh repeatedly, the impact pushing his body further and further back until he finally toppled from the catwalk, his corpse landing on the hangar bay floor.

When the smoke cleared, a blaster pistol was found strapped to his back shoulder, mere inches from where his hands had been. Hanok asked Cress how he had known. Cress lied and said he observed the man's right hand moving.

The truth was, he had anticipated the shoulder holster. But in the smoke, he could not be certain whether Laresh’s hand had been moving to it or not.


	6. The Most Dangerous Person

With the pirates dispatched, the unit wasted no time enabling communications with the ship. Cress called for an emergency medical droid.

Sergeant Bixwill was alive, though the droid confirmed that his lung had been punctured in two places. Another private, a new man whose name Cress did not immediately remember, had also survived his wounds, though his recovery was pronounced “uncertain.”

“What were they protecting?” Hanok wondered.

Cress strode to the door near the back, the one Private J’Teel had opened in search of a bathroom. He drew his blaster, just in case another pirate remained hidden.

Inside was a bare room, with a locked compartment in the floor. Cress shot the lock away, knelt to open it.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. A nauseating miasma of stale sweat and bodily secretions. Some moans came from the compartment, which had no light. With a sick feeling in his gut, Cress retrieved a light pod from his belt and set it to descend into the compartment.

He heard Hanok behind him, catching his breath. “The Force protect us,” the private groaned.

The compartment was packed with people. Young men, women, some children. All in chains, packed tightly into the space. Cress knew how this worked. They had been gathered from populations that wouldn't be missed: the homeless, the missing, the unwanted.

“Slaves,” he said. He felt glad he had shot Laresh. He wished he could bring the man back to life to shoot him again.

“We are Republic soldiers," he announced to the poor wretches. "Hold tight. We will get you unchained, fed, cleaned, and clothed in short order. You are free."

A few expressions of relief from below. Most, however, just stared dully forward, having already lost the mindset of being individuals. For many of them, Cress knew there would be no way back.

He left the room, Hanok at his side.

“The ship would have dropped in neutral territory," Cress said dully. "Probably Nar Shadaa. Unloaded the _cargo_ with the backup of one of the crime families, probably one of the Hutts. Then the Empire would have purchased them from the Hutts. At a significant markup, of course.”

“The Senate will have to act,” Hanok said.

Cress scoffed. “The Senate? They’ll point to this stop as an example that the random intercepts are working. Nothing will change. For every one ship stopped, at least twenty make it through. Any pirate or smuggler who can stomach it would play those odds, particularly with the payout involved.”

Cress had grown up on Nar Shadaa. If a Republic recruiter hadn’t seen him podracing one day…

In any case, one thing was certain. Laresh had definitely been going for his gun. He wouldn't have let himself be captured alive. Slavers don’t last long in prison, and they never die easy.

***

The Pit's feeding time was different tonight than the norm. When the overseers threw down the food scraps, Reyenna rushed in, as usual. But this time, the other slaves held back. She waited, preparing to scratch and claw at anyone who tried to take what she and her mother needed to survive, but no one moved in. The throng of slaves just waited for her to select her scraps.

She could read their faces and body language. More than that, she could feel it through the pores of her skin.

They were afraid. Of her.

She held the food to her chest and walked to the little cave she jealously guarded for herself and her mother. A discovery she had made early on. With a few displays of viciousness, she had been able to maintain it as theirs. It allowed them a hint of privacy – but more importantly, an area she could defend.

Tonight, however, the little cave was their prison.

The first thing she saw was her mother’s face. She was frozen in terror, but her eyes seemed to beg Reyenna to run.

Then she saw the guards, and the overseer from earlier that day.

“Reyenna Desme,” the overseer read from his PADD. “Sometimes hard to remember you lot actually have names.”

The guards stood near her mother, weapons at the ready.

“That cave-in today,” he said casually. “Scary, wasn’t it?”

Reyenna nodded carefully, closely watching the man’s face, his hands. Listening to each inflection in his voice.

“Very,” she said. “We were lucky.”

“Yeah. Can’t think of much worse than being buried alive. Can you?”

He walked in a casual circle around her, flicking his eyes up and down the rags covering her form.

“What planet do you come from?” he asked.

“Balmorra, sir,” she said. “My father was an engineer.”

“Your father was a Republic sympathizer, convicted of fostering rebellion,” he snapped. “That is why you and your mother are here, is it not? A warning to other potential rebels, that their families will be punished for their crimes along with them.”

Her mother’s eyes showed hurt at the overseer’s words, but Reyenna acknowledged them as the truth. The Treaty had predated her birth; she had never known life outside the Empire. But their existence had been comfortable enough. Her father’s rash choice had destroyed them.

“Yes, sir,” she agreed.

The overseer stepped toward her.

“Did you… _do_ something today, Reyenna?” he asked. “Something that kept the rocks and dirt from falling on us?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

He reflected on that, nodded slowly. “So just a fortunate coincidence?”

“Just so, sir.”

"Just luck?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see." The overseer sighed, stepped toward the cave entrance. "In that case, you and your mother are entirely useless to me."

He made a motion to the guards. The guard on the left pulled out his knife and immediately slashed open her mother's throat.

Reyenna screamed, tried to run to her. The second guard grabbed her, restraining her in a bear hug. He pinned her arms painfully behind her back, turned her to face her mother. She contorted her body, kicked, screamed repeatedly. He held her firmly. She was helpless to do anything but watch as the life disappeared from her mother’s eyes.

The overseer gave a final nod. “Do as you will, gentlemen. Just make sure to clean up the mess.”

Once he was gone, the guard who had murdered her mother approached her. The bloody knife was in his hand. He touched the blade to her cheek, leering at her.

“Pretty little thing,” he observed. “Too bad they don’t bathe you, but I suppose we can hold our breath, right Vego?”

The larger man chuckled.

As he did so, his grip shifted. Reyenna bit his fingers, hard. He yelped, let go.

The man with the knife grinned. "Lively one. I like it when they fight."

He reached for her, his awful leer signaling his intentions. Reyenna’s life would end on the same blade that had claimed her mother – But not right away. Reyenna could read that future in his eyes. And she rejected it, as firmly as she had the cave-in.

“I am not your plaything!” she shouted, putting all her hate and rage into the words.

In a blink, her mind went calm and her vision changed. It was if she could see inside her would-be tormenter. The nerves that connected his eyes to his brain. The vessels that pumped his life’s blood through his body.

She reached out with her mind and took hold of a single one of those fragile vessels. She imagined it closing shut, the blood backing up behind it.

The guard screamed, clutching his head. His friend – Vego, was it? – moved toward him.

Reyenna turned her eyes to him. Saw his heart, furiously beating to fuel his outsized body. She pushed that heart, made it beat faster. Then faster still.

Vego fell to his knees, hands on his chest.

She approached. His eyes bulged as he watched her move forward, smiling malevolently.

“They say there’s nothing in the galaxy more dangerous than a person who has lost everything,” she said idly. “Untrue. Mostly, people who have lost everything are pathetic, broken, whimpering little things. But you already know that. Don't you, Vego?”

She pushed his heart to beat faster still, funneled more energy into the beleaguered organ. It strained to keep pace with her demands, struggled to contain all the energy she fed it.

“Do you feel it, Vego? You’re losing everything right now. How dangerous are you?”

He groaned, his eyes pleading for pity.

She had none. A second later, his heart exploded inside his chest. An expression of shock fixed onto his face. His mouth opened, and blood came out of it.

Then he was still. 

The first guard remained alive, twitching and moaning on the floor. She approached him, continuing her musing. With her enhanced senses, she could feel his life, ebbing away. 

“The most dangerous person isn't the one who's lost everything," she said. "It's the one who's still willing to fight to get it back.”

The stopped blood vessel finally burst, exploding into his brain. He twitched harder. She reached in and popped another. Then another. Finally, he grew still as well.

Two new figures appeared in the room. She felt them before she saw them. Two entities in pitch black robes, who stood watching patiently.

“You wield your hate like a weapon.” Their faces were masked by their thick hoods, and she had no idea which of them had spoken. “This is good. You show potential.”

She never got the chance to reply. A blast ripped through her body, smashing her against the cave wall.

She crumpled, struggling to maintain consciousness.

“A fighter, I think.” Less a voice than a hiss. “I will inform Darth Zash. She will want to keep an eye on this one.”

She saw the figures approaching her. Then all was darkness.


	7. The Taste of Victory

Satele Shan sat cross-legged in the ruins of Kaleth. She looked up at the bare stone beside her. Once, it had been part of a grand structure. Now, it was just a short wall that cut off not far above her own standing height.

She sensed Caecinius before she saw him. He was standing at the edge of the garden, looking hesitant.

“Caecinius,” she acknowledged. “Please join me.”

She gestured to the ground beside her. After a moment’s awkward hesitation, he sat beside her.

“I prefer these ruins to the Academy,” she said. “Somehow, The Force feels purer here.”

“It feels unsettled to me,” he replied. “I can sometimes hear echoes from the battle that destroyed it.”

“Are you certain the echoes are from that battle?”

She gave him a very direct look. He looked away, at the rocks in the garden.

“When I was made a knight, after Coruscant,” he said. “You opposed it.”

“I had no voice in your advancement," she said. "I was not a member of the Council."

“But you disagreed with my appointment.”

She nodded, admitting the truth.

“A part of you has never left Coruscant,” she said. “Still, you have proved an excellent instructor. No one here has your skill with a lightsaber, and you have a gift for passing your knowledge to students.”

“Are you saying you were wrong?”

Caecinius’ emotions were always so strong. Doubt radiated from him. He was not trying to provoke an argument, but was instead seeking something from her.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

“Your senses are powerful,” he pressed. “At Korriban, you sensed the Sith before the attack began.”

She laughed harshly. "Seconds before. Too late to actually do anything about it."

“It’s still more than anyone else can claim.”

“I am no seer, Caecinius. Your future is yours to set, through the choices you make. I know that you struggle with anger, and I wish you would spend more time in meditation, working to control it.”

That made him defensive.

“My anger is under control."

“For the moment,” she acknowledged. “Here, in the controlled environment of the Jedi Outpost. But if war comes again?”

“You believe war is coming.” A statement, not a question.

Satele reached out with her mind, lifted the smallest of the pebbles from the meditation garden. She moved it to them, let it hover in the air. Then lifted another, larger rock, and suspended that beside the first.

“Your appointment was not the first time I opposed the Council,” she observed.

“You argued against the Treaty of Coruscant,” Caecinius said. “That's a matter of record.”

“Yes,” she replied.

She set the pebble orbiting the rock, like a planet orbiting a sun. “Both Master Orgus and I believed that it was better to accept conflict in the present than to settle for a temporary peace that might doom the future. In the end, the Council voted a different way, and recommended the Senate pass the Treaty.”

She moved the larger rock into the pebble, which was shot against the Temple ruin. She did not bother to trace its fall. The impact would decide its path. She felt no need to follow it.

“You were right!” Caecinius exclaimed. “You and Master Orgus were right!”

“I believe so, as well. But the decision was made. It is not our place to overrule the decisions of our elected representatives – Not those of the Jedi Council, nor those of the Republic Senate. If we do that, we create another Empire. If we do that, the Sith have already won.”

***

When Reyenna regained consciousness, she was on a transport. She had been cleaned, and was now wearing a plain brown tunic and leggings. Around her were others, members of multiple races, all dressed as she was.

She was unshackled, but she and several of the others on the transport wore metal collars. Reyenna reached up, touched the metal. It did not feel like an ordinary slave collar.

A thin-faced alien with red eyes sat near her. He regarded her with a haughty expression.

“Those are for the slaves,” he said disdainfully. “If you attempt any Force use, or any hostility at all, the collar will activate with intense, debilitating pain.”

“You aren’t wearing one,” she observed.

“I am Sith,” he replied. “Pure blood. I have trained for this my whole life.”

“And what is 'this'?” she asked. “Where are we going?”

He seemed amused by the question.

“Our destination is the Sith Academy on Korriban. There, I will earn my birthright. While you and this other slave scum will earn your deaths.”

Reyenna grinned in response, then threw back her head and laughed aloud.

The pure blood Sith seemed confused. “Did you not hear, slave? Very soon, you will die.”

“I’m not so easy to kill,” she responded.

Then she leaned forward and bit him on his thin, angular nose. The collar activated, and the pain was as intense as the Sith had described. It was as if lightning and fire ran simultaneously through her nerves. She ground her teeth down harder, tasting the Sith’s blood even as she felt her body spasm.

He finally gathered his will and blasted her back from him. Then he raised his hand and slapped her across the face with all his strength. Her teeth tore at the inside of her cheek, and her own blood mixed with his in her mouth.

She grinned darkly at him, letting him see the blood between her teeth. Her pain had already faded, but his nose was still bleeding. She drank in the shock on his face, savoring it like the sweetest nectar.

She closed her mouth, swallowing the blood on her tongue. She decided she liked the flavor.

It tasted like victory.

NEXT: LESSONS OF DARK AND LIGHT


End file.
